


Purple Anemone, White Heather

by Selkiessong



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Fix-It, Inspired By Tumblr, Jon Snow Knows Nothing, Medieval Society, Not for Dany fans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-02-16 12:13:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18691270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkiessong/pseuds/Selkiessong
Summary: An alternate s8ep1 where it's not Bran that Jaime locks eyes with, it's Sansa. His wife.Inspired by rhaenyrakryze beautiful gifset.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because of how young Sansa was in KL I've made use of the medieval formal betrothal, a binding legal and religious agreement, that was considered the equivalent of an unconsummated marriage. It also makes rather more sense that Roose Bolton would disregard a betrothal which he could shrug off as a worshiper of the Old Gods than a legal marriage with no official annulment

 

It’s _her._ Out of all the confrontations he could have expected- _Kingslayer,  Oathbreaker, Man without Honor-_ it isn’t his wife standing silently across the courtyard, eyes wide and lips trembling. Sansa with whom he pledged his troth to before the Seven, the Master of Laws and the High Septon. Sansa whom he had put off bedding because the idea of desiring anyone so terrified and broken was appalling. Sansa whom he had sent Brienne after, armed and armored from his own funds for all the good it did.  Sansa whom he wanted safe and away from the game standing ten feet away.


	2. Purple Hyacinth-"Please Forgive Me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably isn't my best work, but I think we all need this.

My brother would tell stories about the man who killed our father,” the Dragon Queen declaimed whilst Sansa listened with half an ear, her mind whirling on how it would be remotely possible to extricate her former or is he still, betrothed. She had never expected to see Jaime Lannister of all men darkening her door. His father had engineered his dismissal from the Kingsguard against his express with wishes and had saddled him with her, his prize pawn, earning her even more vitriol from Cersei.

   “She never had any intention of sending an army,” Jaime was saying to Daenerys who appears to have been temporarily shocked into angry silence. Tyrion though, Tyrion had jumped to his feet and was apparently trying to argue for his brother only for his queen to mock Jaime’s missing hand.

  “You’re right, we can’t trust him,” she finally said coolly. If Daenerys is anything like Joffrey she must at least give the appearance of agreement. Sansa Stark can’t defend Jaime Lannister. “He attacked my father, and he tried to destroy my house and family the same,” she looked over at the Mother of Bottomless Stomachs-eighteen goats and eleven sheep!- “as he did yours.”

  “You want me to apologize,” Jaime snapped and she closes her eyes slightly instead of telling him to shut up. “Well, I won’t,” he continued defiantly. “We were at war, and I’d do it all again.”  

   “The things we do for love.”

  Bran, or the Three Eyed Raven, or Bran being the Three Eyed Raven broke the impasse. What Bran meant, she had no idea, but the interruption does bring Daenerys back to the present.

  “Then why have you abandoned your family now?” she drawled.

  “Because this isn’t about houses,” Jaime answered after a pointed glance at Brienne, “this is about survival.”

 “You don’t know me Your Grace.”

 Sansa let out a breath she hadn’t realized she realized she’d been holding. When Brienne had first knelt to swear her sword, she had only just been more relived. The Northern lords respect Brienne for her role in retaking Winterfell if not personally. Sansa Stark cannot put herself forward in Jaime Lannister’s defense. But her sworn sword can.

  Even from a dragon.

   “You always knew what she was and you loved her anyway.” Had he though? Had this always been Cersei? When they were children? When she, when _they_ had…

  “Have you been shown your quarters, my lord?” and there she is. Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and his once and maybe still betrothed.

  “You’ve been quite accommodating your ladyship,” Tyrion answered, “although I am still quartered,”

“Oh, no, Lord Tyrion,” and yes there’s the tiny smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “I was talking to your brother.”

  “My brother is usually refered to as Ser-“

  “Will you follow me, my lord?” she cuts in gracefully, and he follows her, grateful for a chance to get away from Tyrion and whatever it was he was saying about returning to King’s Landing as ghost to kill their sister.

“I heard you visited the Godswood,” he nodded. “Did you see Bran?”

 “Yes, I, why didn’t you say anything?” he hissed. Years ago, in a fit of self-loathing he had told Sansa as his newly betrothed what exactly had happened to her brother. He had waited during his audience with the Dragon Queen-seated as though it were her castle and all- for someone to add “attempted to kill a child to save his children” to his crimes. But no, Sansa had been silent until she had mentioned him attacking her father, only to accept Brienne’s testimony.

  “It didn’t seem terribly important at the moment. Did you enjoy your visit with Bran?”

“He’s,” he searched for the right word. Calling the boy he’d nearly killed touched in the head seemed uncalled for, so he settled on,” he’s not what I expected. I thought he would find a way to kill me, but he said he understood what I was doing.”

“He did?” Sansa stopped in yet another drafty corridor.  “You apologized?”

“No need to sound so surprised, my lady.” He couldn’t help feeling a bit miffed even if Sansa had every right to doubt him. “I meant it when I said whatever else, we’d have the truth between us.” It wasn’t part of the betrothal vow, but it was his to her. No lying. “I thought since Bran was the one I’d wronged I should-“ He broke off as Sansa stopped at a plain door and they came face to face with another wolf.

Perfect. Just perfect.

“Ghost!” And damn him if Sansa doesn’t start scratching the oversize terror between the ears like a loyal hound. “Have you been good?” she crooned.

  “This will be your chamber then.” Sansa said still rubbing her hands along the wolf’s face who was _wagging his tail_. “I imagine you’ll want to rest after your journey.”

“Yes, I-Sansa, I’m sorry,” he found himself saying. No need for self-delusion, he wasn’t the fighter he had been even five years ago. He would be dead soon in all likelihood, and he had been meaning to say this for some time. “I’m sorry for what my family did to yours, that I let you be pledged to me, that I didn’t protect you, that I couldn’t stop what happened with the Bolton Bastard.”

“My lord that’s, Jaime” Sansa smiled slightly and as always when she brings herself to call him by name instead of title he can’t help feeling warm. “Jaime, you couldn’t have done anything. Petyr Baelish wanted me.  He placed the poison that killed Joffery in my necklace so I’d have no choice but to rely on him. I suppose he thought that after Ramsey I’d fall into his arms,” she finished scornfully.

  “But still I,”

_I’m supposed to protect the innocent. I wanted to protect you._

“Jaime,” and again he felt that hint of acceptance, of belonging. “Stop. We can’t change what happened, no one can. We can only accept and move on.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! Especially after the last episode....


	3. Rhododendron-"Danger"

“If I was out there right now,” Tyrion repeated and Sansa felt a surge of anger. Who did Tyrion think he was? None of them wanted to be here, but no one else was complaining.  He could see something no one else could see? Did he think he was the only person in the crypts that wanted to feel as though they were doing something productive? Did he think his life would be spared due to witty tongue?

 “No,” she raised her voice until it would carry through the enclosed area, “We’re here, all of us, because this is where we know that this is where we need to be. Even if we feel that we are being useless by sitting in the dark, we need to be here so that everyone who is fighting outside can focus on protecting themselves. If we were out there, we would be putting them in danger. They would be too busy defending us to defend themselves. All of the fighters out there, their fighting for us, but by all of us staying out of their way, we’re helping them to win,” she finished

“You should have been married to me my lady,” Tyrion said eyes bright with a familiar gleam. “You were wasted on my brother. With me though… I could have ruled the Seven Kingdoms with you at my side.”

She can only stare at him for a moment. She was wasted on Jaime? Jaime who unlike every other man in the Red Keep didn’t leer at her breasts, who allowed her to cry for her family when she was alone with him? And married not betrothed?

“It would never have worked between us,” is what she said pulling on her courteous mask. Her people are looking to her for reassurance, for calm. But she can’t resist reminding him what he brought to Westeros. “What with the Dragon Queen. Your divided loyalties would have become a problem.” _You serve a woman who has no idea of diplomacy, of logistics, a woman who smiled at the smallfolk’s terror of her dragons. The North remembers and so do I._

“Yes,” they’ve forgotten the Dragon Queen’s companion. “Without the Dragon Queen we wouldn’t have any problems. We’d all be dead.” Sansa bit back a groan. It was going to be a long night.

They’ve waited for what seems like days when she feels it; not quite scent and not quite sound; the unmistakable feel of oncoming sleet, of hearing steel scrape over stone, of ice cracking underfoot, of waking in darkness to echoing loon calls. And the crypts walls shake.

 _He can raise the dead. The Night King can raise the dead._ Her mind whirled with the implications. _There are generations of dead Starks inside these walls. He can raise the dead._

“Everyone,” she called, voice cracking slightly, “put the younger children behind you and-“ when she tried to push someone it was easier if she could push off of a solid object, “ and put your backs to a wall that seems solid.” They don’t have dragonglass, they don’t have Valyrian steel, there isn’t anything else that will have any effect, except- “Take a torch or a candle and hold it in front of you.”

There’s silence but for heavy breathing and children whimpering and the constant scritch scratch, rattle, scratch on stone, and somehow, she had her hand wrapped around the dagger Arya gave her. She wanted to close her eyes, to run, to hide. Not her family. Her father and her little brother. Would she have to kill her father after seeing his head fall? Or Rickon, could she stab her little brother? And how was she to hold the dagger? Hand around the hilt obviously, but where should her thumb go? Inside her fingers or around her fingers? _Make it stop. Make it end._ Weren’t the dragons supposed to stop this? Scritch scratch, rattle, scratch. _Not Rickon, not Father. Make it stop. Make it stop. Not Rickon, please no, please, please, make it end._

And then it did. The crypt was quiet, the walls stopped shaking. _I am the Lady of Winterfell._ She picked up the heaviest object she could find in her left hand, dagger in her right. _This is my home._ She took a deep breath and hit the wall that seemed the shakiest and held her breath. _I will not be frightened in my own home._ She waited one, two, three heartbeats. The silence held.

“Gilly,” Sansa coughed, thinking through all the arrangements she had put in place. “Gilly, would you please assemble your women? We’ll need water heated for washing, for drinks, we need,”

“It’s alright, Lady Sansa,” now that her Sam was safe, Gilly was her capable self. “All of us know what we’re supposed to do, we’ll have water and soup hot and fires in the Great Hall lit as soon we get there.”

“Thank you, Gilly. Maester Wolkan,” she continued briskly, starting to braid her hair, “I’m sure there will be many people in need of your attentions, but perhaps start by coordinating with Gilly. Lord Varys,” from what she’s seen tonight he seems to get along well with children, and she needs all the help she can get, “perhaps you could assist Gilly in settling the younger children.” Sansa looked around trying to think of what she had overlooked. “Lady Missandei, if you would please accompany me to allow for easier communication, and,” her tone sharpened as she saw Tryion starting _another_ skin of wine, “if you would be so kind as to continue to imbibe elsewhere my lord hand, that would be very much appreciated,” she tartly concluded, snatching extra blankets before leading the way out of the catacombs.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Once the dead men have fallen to the ground like so many puppets with their strings cut, there’s nothing to stop Jaime from thinking about the sight of two dragons raining fire on the battlefield. Their fires burned their enemies and allies, undead and living alike; all turned to nothing more than identical ashes.  He thought it must be comforting to be Tyrion, to have the wisdom to be able to see past all apparent similarities between this queen and her father. He can’t. He’s the family idiot and he can’t. The flames aren’t green, the flames aren’t green, _the flames aren’t green._ He bit his mouth hard until he tasted blood and used the clarity to go away inside. Not Casterly Rock, not anymore, not King’s Landing. Snow. The snow in the Godswood was really quite pretty now that he thought about it. Restful. The snowflakes drifted together to form a single untouched landscape.

“Ser Jaime? Jaime?” the voice is also cool, so he reluctantly pulls himself away from the snowy field. “Jaime you alright?”

“ ‘M fine,” he slurred. Maybe he should become the snow. No past, no memories. Just be.

“Come inside.” The cool voice is persistent enough to tug him from his dream of dissolving. “It’s too cold to stay outside without moving. You’ll die.”

Now that’s a thought. Dying from the cold wasn’t supposed to be too bad, just to fall asleep and never wake up. Peaceful like the snow.

“I think not.” The voice is edged now, so intense it forces him out of his snow dreams. He blinked and blue eyes came into focus. Sansa Stark, who looked remarkably like her angry mother, who would probably find a way to make him miserable for making her daughter sad.

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t remember the walk back to Winterfell proper, or through the corridors, or anything at all really until he’s being pushed into a chair. There’s a fire lit, but none of it feels real, more like floating through a dream.

“I’ll help you off with your armor then,” a woman’s voice said hopefully, and he swam towards the sound.

“Sansa?” A distant part of him railed against having her serve as his squire, but he couldn’t remember why that should be, and he returned to watching the snow drift down, as she slowly stripped him.

“Am I hurting you?” She’s annoying. Gentle but annoying, especially when she raised a candle to his eyes. “Your eyes look fine,” she muttered almost to herself as she lightly ran her fingers over his head, “I can’t feel any injuries, and you haven’t stopped shivering, that’s good.”

“Good?” He couldn’t have heard right, but she smiled.

“Shivering is good. When you’re cold, but you stop shivering,” she wet a rag and started washing the battle grime off him, “that’s when the problems start. Did I hurt you before?”

“No.” The cloth is rough but the water was warm and it was rather soothing. Warm not fiery hot. “Sometimes it’s easier if I’m not here.”

“Not here?”

“If I become the snow,” he babbled. “The snow is cold, it doesn’t remember her father, or her riding the dragon, or her burning armies and all the food. It’s peaceful there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts?


	4. Begonia- "Beware"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To give a fair warning- not everyone is going to like some character's (Jon) actions. I'm doing the best I can with what the season gave us.

It was pleasantly chilly when Jaime woke. Too cold to smell the fires from the battle, but warm enough that any exposed skin was safe from freezing.

“Good Morning,” a too cheerful voice sang and he blinked to find Arya Stark sitting by his bed, twirling a knife between her fingers, and was that bruises around her throat? He pitied the idiot who attempted to strangle her.

“If you’re going to kill me,” he said keeping an eye on the knife, “can you not ruin your sister’s nice clean sheets?”

Arya laughed. “You’ll have to do better than that. You owe us a debt, and you can start by getting my sister to lay down at a decent hour tonight.”

Well, that’s going to be easy.

Downstairs Winterfell was overlaid with chaos with the Great Hall serving as an infirmary, bedrolls in the corridors, and children running errands underfoot. And yet there was a sense of order underlaying the activity; no passageway was blocked, no one was left unattended, and all the children were busily helping. Sansa’s red braid was no where in sight, and so he decided to be a polite guest and bring his hostess food that he’s almost certain she’s forgotten.  

He found Sansa outside busily supervising most of the able-bodied men left in Winterfell setting the dead neatly on a layer of wood with a ragged ear Ghost close at her heels.

“Lord Jaime.” To his indiscernible relief the only reaction he got was a lazy tail swipe. Maybe that’s why the first words out of his mouth were-

“I bought you food.”  

“Thank you, no, no, Ghost. You’ll get a treat after I brush you.” Sansa smiled at him apologetically, “I’m sorry about that. Sometimes Ghost needs a little reminder. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” He is. He hadn’t seen the Dragon Queen or her pets. He’s fine. “Better than they are anyway,” he added gesturing to the piles of bodies.

“I’m hoping the dragons can help with that, we only have so much wood.”

It makes sense, but the thought of more burning bodies…

“I’m sorry,” she continued, “but there are too many to bury especially with the ground frozen. You don’t need to come.”

“How?” he mumbled against a dry mouth. He hadn’t told anyone what he had seen, not with Varys present.

“Last night you were talking after the fighting was over,” Sansa said very delicately. “You said that the Dragon Queen burned food and soldiers?”

Had he? He remembered… he remembered the fires, and Sansa taking his armor off, and snow. Somehow there’s a lot of snow.

“We were coming back from Highgarden,” _don’t think about it, don’t think about it,_ “she met us with her Dothraki and the big dragon. I couldn’t kill it.”

“You,” Sansa shook her head, “never mind, another time. Does your brother know?”

“He says she’s not like her father?” It’s no answer at all, and Sansa gives a sharp nod.

“He also believed Cersei was sending an army North.”

“Well, she said-“ He shut his mouth because what was there to say? It wasn’t the first promise she’d broken.

“You don’t though? You don’t believe that this queen wouldn’t take any action that would give her the throne?”  

 They’re alone, but he’s too used to Kings Landing and only nods.

“I see,” Sansa’s tone was thoughtful. “Well, we might as well go inside if you’re going to help brush Ghost. Yes you,” she said to her white shadow, “you’re going to have your fur nicely brushed, and maybe the silly Westerman will remember that winter in the North means wearing layers of clothing for those of us who don’t have such nice fur coats.”

  He wondered how and when this had become his life, to sit on the floor of Winterfell and wield a brush lefthanded through a direwolf’s heavy coat. What a pity he was so old, and Sansa was so young.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“In all seven kingdoms, men will live without fear and cruelty, under their rightful queen.”

It’s not the infamous Targaryen madness, no this is something else, something far more deadly. _Fanaticism_. Like the early Andals or the Faith Militant, but not quite. Daenerys Targaryen’s unswerving, unshakeable faith is in herself and in her belief of her own destiny. The woman is a living forest fire, and she will turn everything in her path to a ruin of ashes. It’s all she could think about as Arya demanded that Jon actually talk to them, as Jon danced around the point yet again, as he shifted the burden of whatever secret he had to Bran.

For a minute Sansa was too shocked to react as all the implications of her brother’s, no cousin’s, parentage fell into place. Her father who held his honor above everything even common sense had lied to her mother for their entire married life. He had let her think that he harbored his bastard alongside her children, but it was far worse than that.  Her honorable father had involved his unwitting wife and family in high treason; all for his dead sister and because he couldn’t do as any other man and send his supposed bastard to learn a trade in another family, safely out of sight.

“Does anyone else know?”

“Well Sam, he told me about the High Septon’s diary,” she had expected that, “and I told Daen-“

“You, why?” Arya sputtered. It was the stupidest thing either of them had heard.

“It would not have been honorable to hide it,” Jon answered stiffly and Sansa nearly bit her tongue. She couldn’t imagine the Dragon Queen taking that revelation well. Still, if Daenerys already knew…

“Offer to abdicate publicly,” she suggested. It wasn’t something that was often done, but there had been Targryens who had publicly renounced their claim. “You can even ask for the North as a gesture of goodwill between the two of you.” The more she thought about it, the more sense it made; Daenerys could appear to be generous while at the same time have a rival safely out of her way rebuilding his own kingdom who wanted to be left alone.

 “No!” none of them, even Bran had expected Jon’s reaction. “Stop playing games Sansa! Father,” oh, now he was their brother, “Father would hate to know that his child is playing Southern politics. Just stop it. I pledged to her and I will honor my pledge.”

 _You do that,_ she wanted to say. _You honor your pledge; you choose to put your honor over your life._ Before exposing Baelish’s crimes, she and Arya had had the whole sorry tale of their father’s final days in Kings Landing, how he chose to put honor ahead of everything even what could have meant survival. Daenerys and Daenerys alone knowing of Jon’s parentage hits a little too close to home for her liking. Nearly all of Robert’s bastards had been killed to protect Joffery’s false claim. Jon was too popular to be killed outright, but anything could happen in a battle and seem an accident. Unless of course, other people knew, it would then be in the Dragon Queen’s interest to ensure Jon’s survival if she didn’t want to begin her reign with whispers of attempted assassination trailing her.

 “Sansa” She’d been so busy trying not to grab Jon by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled that Arya had called her name twice. “Sansa, I know about Ser Jaime.”

 _That_ brings her back to her siblings with a thud; it’s not that she was planning on keeping secrets from Arya, she was going to tell her, she _was_ as soon as she thought of how to, but Sansa supposed that Bran had more of a right to distribute that particular tidbit than she did.

“I said she should talk to you,” Bran offered, and Sansa wondered if that meant part of Bran was Bran again.

“He was, he was kind to me,” she muttered looking at the ground. “After, in Kings Landing, everyone wanted something, there was always some sort of payment I had to give. Well, not Shae.”

“Shae?” Arya asked.

“Shae was umm Tyrion Lannister’s mistress; I think he wanted her as my maid because then he wouldn’t have to sneak out to see her. But really, she was the closest I had to a friend. People would have suspected her after Joffrey died; I hope she was able to leave.”

“She’s dead.” Bran interrupted as one did when one knew the entire past. “Tyrion strangled her for giving testimony against him.”

 _Oh yes,_ Sansa thought, _she had been given to the better Lannister_.

“Ser Jaime, he didn’t,” Sansa paused. She hated remembering Kings Landing even more than her time with Ramsey if it were possible. Ramsey only wanted to hurt her, to claim her body. Everyone in Kings Landing save one wanted every last piece of her, body and soul. “I had new clothes,” she finally settled on, “and they fit me, they weren’t too tight. He sat outside the Godswood so no one would try and talk to me. If Joffery, if he ever showed any interest in me, I could expect a Lannister servant with a message that my betrothed desired my company. He gave me books,” she finished lamely. _I don’t need to be strong in front of him. I don’t need to prove myself. I can just be me._

 “Fine,” Arya snapped. _Fine?_ “If he means that much to you, he’ll live. But if he hurts you,” Arya bared her teeth, “I’ll slit his throat when I get back.”

“You’re leaving?” Truly, Sansa was resigned more than anything. Everyone left.

“I have some things to take care of,” Arya muttered. “But you’ll take care of Jon?”

“Yes. I’m going to save his ungrateful neck if it’s the last thing I do.”

How though? Not Tyrion, not after she learned that he watched the woman burn food and men without shaking his loyalty. Varys though… there’s still time to pay him a visit before he leaves under the guise of seeing to his health after their night in the crypts. He’s the Spider, used to spinning threads of information into webs; she need only remark on Ned Stark returning with his sister’s body and a newborn babe who grew to ride a dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts?


	5. Not an Update: Please Read

Hi everyone. I am so sorry, but after a lot of thought I'm discontinuing this story. For this story to work Jaime needs to stay in the North and not go back to Cersei, and truthfully after months of trying to work it out I just couldn't do it. Personally I don't think Jaime loved Cersei in a romantic/sexual way by the end of the series, but I do think he loved her enough to  _try_ to save her and her child.

Thank you all so much for your comments, maybe at some point I'll figure out a way to give a Jaime and Sansa a happy ending post s8.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Any thoughts?
> 
> I'm now on tumblr-selkiesstories.tumblr.com-I'd love to hear from you!


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